Hey. It’s me. I’ve reached Lake Winnie, the base camp of my Everest. It’s storming out so I’m sitting in my tent on the campground where the wolf attack happened last year. Don’t worry, that wolf was sick and it was a freak accident. But there’s a bear on the grounds. Spotted just last night. By whom you ask? The only other person camping here. A white haired man with a miniature, one-tumored dog who has been living here while he studies for some nursing test. He made sure to say “if it helps to know, I’m Catholic.” I told him that wasn’t something to brag about especially when you consider his demographic. It was mean but I was tired and deep down missing the Molberg/LaMaack family.
Some of you might have seen my Instagram. I feel a little bad about that but they don’t care. I portrayed them like weirdos…actually, Pete and Earl, probably portrayed them like weirdos given their handle bar mustaches. But they were great. The boys were complete gentlemen without being mcgoo, Betty doted on me like only a mother would…made me miss my own mom…and Lucy, and it wasn’t 15 minutes before Curt was chirping “looks like you might need a few more bungees” just like my own dad would.
I met up with them in such a weird way. The short of it is—some man found out about me in Bemidjii and, unbeknownst to me, emailed his paddling club suggesting they paddle with me across Lake Bemidji. I arrived at my canoe that morning to a group of men full of questions, hand shakes, and paddles. The attention made me clam up faster than my hand would in a boys and I crumbled. I lied. Told them I wasn’t ready to paddle, I had some errands to do, my boat needed cleaning (which it did), and apologized letting them know I appreciate their support. A couple of them lived on the river and that’s how I ended up with Pete and his family. They treated me to burgers, beer, lawn games, breakfast in the morning…and great, great company. We were even ready to water ski before a storm rolled in! Made me realize, a little too early on, that the gypsy life is not what I’m striving for. I think I make a perfect fit for the cush life. You know? I’m not quitting. Far from it. And right now I’m just rambling because I’m very scared. Again. Just when I think I am getting braver and stronger–BAM. A new test- reminding me–Nope.
Oh by the way! I named my boat. Alex said it was unlucky not to name your boat so I did. And right away my luck changed. It’s called Kingfisher. After the bird. The one whose head is too big for its body. I thought it fit nice.
I think I’ll stop typing now. Probably text you guys. I miss you guys. A whooole lot.
Still haven’t cried. Pretty proud of that. Almost did when I left the Molberg and LaMaacks but I paddled hard and it turns out that helps not to cry.
Okay. Enough about me. Text you soon.


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